I’m at an age now where my poor old body is beginning to
turn traitor. I wish that in the past I’d
regarded it more as a beloved pet dog – fed it a lean diet, taken it for
regular exercise.
Recently my number came up for bowel cancer screening. I’d heard nothing about this program and
suspected an elaborate practical joke.
But when the enema kit arrived in the post, the joke was over.
As if that wasn’t enough, the wee infection I had before
Christmas (wait a minute, am I really blogging about my own urine infection? Is
disinhibiton another sign of old age?)…..as I said, my urine infection before
Christmas led to my GP noticing traces of blood in my urine samples. Next stop, a cystoscopy.
Yep. Another camera where I never expected to find one. Getting those bits of my anatomy to smile was going to be challenging.
And although the two procedures were to take place in
different hospitals, by coincidence, they were scheduled on consecutive days
this week.
No wonder my end-of-term celebrations were somewhat muted.
I told Pascoe and he offered me a “bright spot” – under the
data protection act I can demand a copy of the video footage taken of my colon
and bladder.
We could show them to our guests as after-dinner
entertainment. Thus trumping the whole
holiday photo/wedding video experience.
So during the procedures, I twisted to assess the monitor. My bladder was fine, although it did look a
bit like an alien’s den in Star Trek.
But I actually felt quite proud of the journey through my pink, healthy
looking colon. Except where the enema
hadn’t been completely thorough, which made me feel unaccountably ashamed. I guess it’s not every day you get to watch a
live broadcast of your own poo in a small room full of strangers.
So, bottom line (bottom
line – ha ha) is that I didn’t ask for the video. After this week’s goings on I
have just a shred of dignity left and I intend to hang on to it.
